


say it with me

by innerlight



Series: AD Character/Reader [3]
Category: Girls (TV)
Genre: Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Insecurity, Mentions of Therapy, Reader feels unworthy, Reader has breasts, Reader is incredibly insecure, Sackler makes reader compliment themselves until they feel better, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, feels inadequate and unattractive, mentions of stretch marks and cellulite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerlight/pseuds/innerlight
Summary: Words fail you as his fingers move down the length of your arm till he has your hand in his. Raising them towards you, laying it across your chest."Tell you what. For every compliment you give, I'll lay a kiss on your shoulder. Deal?"
Relationships: Adam Sackler/Reader
Series: AD Character/Reader [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881292
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	say it with me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! This is a sad mess I wrote and couldn't let go off so, enjoy?
> 
> HUGE DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I am not, nor do I pretend to be a licensed therapist or someone you should ever even listen to for advice or guidance in such things. If you do relate to the reader I urge you to seek support from the people you trust or even better from a professional! You're not alone and you are most definitely worthy of love 💖
> 
> ALSO you don't need no partner or anyone to say these things to you!! Compliment yourself like you deserve! 🙌🏻

There's sunlight reflecting on the glass. 

It's a far better sight than the one standing before you now. 

Sometimes, you're struck with the thought of the existence of a body under the clothes you choose to wear. 

There's legs and arms, but those you see frequently. 

There's also loose skinned thighs, a growing tummy and a chest that's seen better days. 

But those are hard to look at.

It's easier to throw on a loose blouse, an oversized shirt, baggy pants. 

They help. They make you forget those parts exist. 

Yet, here you are. 

Standing bare in front of an object that has only dread to offer. 

Because your therapist said so. 

They said you should look at the flesh that carries your soul and feel grateful for the things it does for you. 

How it takes you places, how it runs, albeit rarely, how it gives people hugs and creates art. 

Though lately you have been avoiding that too. 

What difference could an art piece of yours make? 

What emotion could it ever be able of provoking? 

Hardly anything of significance, probably. 

Your hands clench into fists. 

_Here I am_. 

But why? 

Your gaze meets the eyes in your reflection. 

Those are a pleasant sight at least. 

Your eyes, your hair. 

Though those have started to lose their spark too. 

Just like you. 

For there is no original thought good enough for you to think. 

For there is no trace of beauty on your marks. 

For there is no hope for change and growth. 

Since your sadness keeps you from working on both. 

Yet there is a light in your eyes still. 

A thirst for knowledge. 

A grief for your abandoned art. 

A quest that lays before you. 

A choice that could be made. 

The itch to wrap your hands over your body and hide is strong. 

But you stay still. 

_I am doing the best I can._

That's what you're supposed to say. 

In hopes you'll one day believe it too. 

_I love-_

Your mind trips over the next word. 

It sounds wrong even in the privacy of your thoughts. 

For this body is unworthy of love until you deem it so. 

_How could anyone anyway even-_

_No._

You're strong enough for that thought to perish at least.

The sound of someone entering the room fails to draw your attention. 

Eyes too focused on a new line of stretch marks resting on your skin. 

Or perhaps they are old. 

You haven't seen your body in so long, you've almost forgotten its flaws. 

Yet you know they exist. 

And they could swallow you whole. 

"What are you doing there, kid?" 

_Him._

_His voice._

_He's not supposed to see me this way._

_I need him to think I'm good._

_I need him to think I'm worthy._

Your hands do flinch then. 

They wrap around your body, back curling forward. 

He's bare too, hair still wet from the shower, little droplets of water dropping down his front. 

He seems to understand the weight of this moment. 

How the silence stretches around you both like a cloak. 

He remains behind you, his hand outstretched but staying an inch away. 

Not touching yet. As if he's waiting for permission. 

Seems strange after everything you've done but there's a weight on your chest this time. 

Impending thoughts of dread and doom that scream he's going to run away. 

He's going to laugh. 

But he hasn't done either yet. 

Not today, not all times you've slept together either. 

There's a slight trembling nod that your reflection does. 

Maybe you do it too. 

He doesn't go for your chest like you though he would. 

Doesn't go for your ass either. 

Instead there's a feather light draw of his finger along your arm as he stands behind you. 

His reflection joins yours. 

And it's wonderful.

He's a match of beauty. 

Why can't you be too?

"Wanna know something, kid? 

Your reflection gives another hesitant nod. 

"I've always liked the beauty marks on your shoulders. It's like a map I get to follow every time I kiss you."

There's a tingling on your skin at his words. As if a feather dusts along your marks. 

"Do you like them?" 

His question is perfectly reasonable. _Innocent_. 

Then why is it so hard to answer? 

Why is there a burning in your eyes? 

You blink and look away, breaking the mirror's gaze before answering. 

"I do." 

He hums and traces a finger on the skin of your shoulder with the slightest touch. 

"What else do you like, kid? Cause I've got plenty." 

"I don't-"

His finger starts drawing small circles on your arm and the connection grounds you, a reminder you're actually there. 

Standing bare in front of someone who likes the moles on your shoulders. 

And you do, too.

There has to be something else that's worthy, right? 

"I like-" your voice is barely a whisper, a broken sound scared of being heard. 

"Go on. You can say anything you want."

"I like my hands." you start even if it sounds stupid and pointless. There's nothing truly special about them. 

Nor the rest of you to be honest. 

"Mhmm, what about them?" 

"Um, I-" you stummer, thoughts racing to think of a response. 

To take it back, because they are not pretty, after all. 

Neither is the rest of you. 

So it's okay really. 

"I only like them when my nails are done or in a useful sense, since sometimes I paint or write but-" 

Words fail you as his fingers move down the length of your arm till he has your hand in his. Raising them towards you, laying it across your chest. 

"Tell you what. For every compliment you give, I'll lay a kiss on your shoulder. Deal?" 

You scoff, gaze turning to the pile of clothes resting on the floor. 

It's been days since you said you'd put those away. 

Maybe even a week? 

Then their weight becomes too much to witness too. 

You turn slightly, the burning in your eyes getting worse. 

"I'm not going to stand here and compliment myself like a lunatic, let's just go and watch tv." 

"Yeah, no that's not happening." 

Confusion rumbles through your brain, making your eyebrows knit together, but he keeps talking before you can answer. 

"We'll stay here until you tell me all the things you like and why." 

It's the last thing you want to do. 

Your instincts scream to run away. 

Hide from the discomfort your own figure brings. 

But you can't outrun what you are. 

At least that's what the therapist said. 

_We're all here for a reason._

_You have value._

_You are unique._

Tears burn and yet you turn. 

Gaze meeting the mirror again. 

"I like my hair, most of the time." you start, eyes staring at the strands coming loose from the haphazard bun you throw them in everyday.

Because it's _convenient._

It can't be healthy for them though, can it? 

Yet they are so hard to tame. 

_When was the last time you brushed them?_

Now that one you remember. It must have been the last time you left the house when-

When did you leave the house and put any effort in your look? 

Last _week?_

No, that was only to walk the dog. 

And then you made Sackler do it because you never felt like it again. 

Still don't. 

Don't feel like going anywhere, really. 

And why would you? 

You've started drifting away from friends. 

It's better than to burden them with your sadness. 

When was the last time you met with them? 

Surely you'd brushed your hair for that. 

Or maybe not even then. 

As the silence draws on, his free hand's fingers play with a strand of hair that frames your face. 

And you feel grounded again. 

"My hair is nice because I can do many hairstyles and braids with it." you tentatively start, words sounding silly to your own ears. "They hide my face when I wear it down."

"That's a shame." he replies, almost instantly, as if he knew what you were going to say. "I like your face."

You truly don't see why he would. 

Why anyone would, really. 

Then his lips touch your shoulder. 

Just like he promised he would. 

"It's okay, I guess."

_Lie._

"It's more than okay but fine, let's play along for a second. What's _okay_ about it?" 

He's _humouring_ you. 

But weirdly enough, it's _working_. 

"My eyes are nice enough, I guess. They're not special but I like them."

It's strange, this admission. 

The knowledge that they are not special but you like them anyway. 

And it holds truth as the words float around your mind. 

His fingers untangle from the strand of hair and move, thumb tracing the skin beside your left eye. 

_Another small kiss, this time on a beauty mark._

"You should. They _are_ nice and _very_ expressive." there's a smirk on his lips as he speaks, lessening the weight pushing against your chest. "What else?" 

_What else is there?_

"I like… My lips?" your voice rises as a question in the end, seeking reassurance. 

Although, of course it's stupid. 

They are not special either. 

You'll take it back- _Say it was a joke._

The window closes once he speaks. 

"Nice one, I love those." he reassures, laying a kiss at the end of your shoulder. 

He's come closer since you began talking again. 

His chest is against your back, chin against your hair, hand still holding yours over your heart. 

It's _strange._

_Intimate._

And for all you've done, this is what makes you shy.

"Tell me more." he urges. "Let's go somewhere else, your legs or torso, anything you like." 

Your mind screams again. 

_Don't look there._

_Those are not meant to be seen._

Yet they can't remain hidden. 

Your eyes scan the mirror, on a fruitless quest to find some place of value. 

What if there is none? 

Your thighs jiggle even as you stay deadly still. You can almost see it. 

Your arms do too.

The skin on your belly isn't flat anymore like it once was. 

When you had started working out. 

But did you even like it then? 

You must have. 

Your breasts are a little uneven. 

If only they were different. Like the ones you see on others. 

But they simply aren't. 

They are _yours_. 

Your whole body is. 

_Isn't that just sad._

"I don't-" the words get stuck in your throat. 

"Do you know what the puppy would say?" he asks, chin leaning on your shoulder. 

The absurdity of the question makes the beginning of a laugh bubble inside your chest. 

"What? It loves you too, it deserves a say in this." he justifies and lays a kiss on the back of your shoulder. 

"Go on then." you say, curiosity intrigued. 

There's a slight curl on the corner of your lips. 

They turn upwards and your reflection is almost smiling. 

Maybe you are too. 

"It'd say that your thighs are the perfect place for a nap." 

A small giggle rushes out of you. 

"What? It's true. I can vouch for it too!" he shrugs, burying his head on the side of your neck. "I love them." 

Time seems to freeze. 

He can't possibly-

Why would _anyone-_

"You do?" 

Your voice is barely audible even to your own ears. 

He hums though, the vibration making a shiver run down your spine. 

Or maybe it's just him. 

"I do, but that's irrelevant." 

Your back stands a little straighter at the admission. 

_Does he really mean that?_

_Could he?_

Maybe, just maybe someone could-

"But why?" 

It's a genuine question. 

"Kid, I love every single part of you." he says, tone serious leaving no room for doubt as he lays the faintest of kisses on your neck. 

His free arm wraps around your front, thumb stroking your side. "I love every fucking inch of skin, every mark and goddamn treasure." another soft kiss. 

"Because it's _yours_." 

For a second, your breath stops. 

Hell, so does the world. 

Because this body truly is _yours._

_It's mine._

_Only I have it._

Could it be worthy of love? 

Could the rest of you be too? 

"I love everything about you, your laugh, your wit, your ass." 

His hand grabs the flesh and doubt creeps in again. Could he only be saying that? 

He traces his lips against your forehead, "I can hear the gears turning, kid. I mean every word, no need to worry about that. What matters is you believing it too." 

Your stare with the reflection breaks and the mirror wins. "Let's lie down." 

Sackler surprisingly makes no comment besides a soft hum of agreement. Fingers tapping across the length of your arm as you lay on your side of the bed. 

His arms wrap around you as your head touches the pillow. "Repeat after me, babydoll." he starts, mouthing at the skin of your upper back. 

"I'm hot." 

A dry chuckle bubbles in your throat, but even as your mind screams differently, you decide to play along. A tone of entertainment in your voice, "You're hot."

"Brat." he taunts, biting at the side of your neck. "I know I am. You need to know it too."

The words swim around your mind as you feel the warmth of his front against your back, and with the lowest of voices you manage to whisper, "I'm- I'm hot."

"Very good." Another small playful bite, making you giggle as he buries his head on the crook of your neck. "Let's do one more." your heart races with anticipation, hoping it's something you can gather the courage to say.

"I'm worthy."

Your breath catches at the words, throat suddenly dry. "I'm-" his fingers trace light circles on your hip as he waits, in an uncharacteristically patient manner. "I'm worthy." 

"Damn right." he praises, voice hoarse against your ear. "I love me." 

Your eyes shot open, teeth immediately start nibbling on the inside of your cheek, because you _know_ this one you _can't_ do. "I don't-" 

"Shhh, it's okay if you don't mean it entirely yet. We can work on that. I just want you to hear yourself saying it once." his voice is smooth and you try to concentrate on its low frequency. 

You could try to say it once. 

It probably won't work but you can _try._

_Right?_

You take a deep breath, eyes falling shut just as your lips open, "I-" you pause, fingers wrapping around the sheet you use to keep warm at night when he leaves the fan on. 

"That's a start, kid. Go on." Sackler's lips trace the edge of your shoulder as he waits. 

"I love-" a small pause. Another deep breath. Eyes still clenched shut as a small tear manages to drop from the side. "I love me." 

His arms tighten around you, his mouth laying kisses on every inch of your skin he can reach. "You did good, kid. I'm so proud of you." 

Your eyes remain close for fear this moment will end but your lips curl up in a watery smile. Words fail you, leaving you silent and sated. 

Because you managed to say it. 

And it might not ring as the truth yet. 

But soon it might. 

It _will._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are much appreciated!
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/innereylo?s=09) 💕


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